Long Division
by Daimeera
Summary: An hour later, when I still hadn't talked to her and she left the stuffy atmosphere, I didn't try to stop her. I let her go and I muttered expletives about fate and destiny under my breath and I wondered if I would ever see her again.
1. East of Eden

**A/N**: Ugh, I'm horrible, I always preface everything with author's notes. Anyway, I'm not abandoning other stories, this is simply something I thought of and wanted to work on.

* * *

**Prologue - East of Eden**

When I saw her sitting there, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the table, I honest to God didn't recognise her.

She'd dyed her hair a muddy brown and her eyes were bored and she looked far older than twenty-one. But there was something vaguely familiar about the way she jutted out her chin that caught my attention, and when I examined her hands more closely, I knew it had to be her. The fingernails were the same--short, but not too short, wide but not too wide--and her fingers were the same perfect length that had laced between my own.

I'd found myself in the hazy bar that night and for a moment, one stupid moment, I thought that fate had conspired to bring us back together. The smoke was tickling my nose and I was downing my second beer and trying to decide what to do and where to go next when I noticed her.

I called the bartender over and sent her a drink, and I knew he must have told her who it was from because she looked my way, the bored expression momentarily replaced by confusion. It turned out that she didn't recognise me anymore than I had her--I guess she'd been expecting me to change, but I still looked more or less the same as when I'd last seen her.

I sent her another drink to stall before I reintroduced myself, and immediately after I sent it, I regretted it. I knew what her mom was like and that it was distinctly possible she was going down the same road. She looked like hell, but it was too late to steal back the vodka she tipped down her throat.

She shifted position and stretched her arms out to extinguish the butt of her cigarette in the tray and although I already knew it was her, it was impossible not to notice her arms. They were laced with purple and red and too-white lines and patterns and I wondered what had happened since I'd known her last. I wondered why she didn't even care to hide them anymore.

I'll admit it. I was scared--no, terrified--to approach her. I didn't want to know who'd done this to her. I didn't want to be told that it was me because I was scared to death that it was. And an hour later, when I still hadn't talked to her and she left the stuffy atmosphere, I didn't try to stop her. I let her go and I muttered expletives about fate and destiny under my breath and I wondered if I would ever see her again.

I tipped back two more beers and when I was finally drunk enough to forget my own name, I stumbled back to my hotel and fell into bed.

Had I been lucid, I would have complained about the stains in the sheets and the messy bathroom, but then again those were my fault anyway. True, the maid should have been by, but I guess you get what you pay for and I wasn't willing to pay a hell of a lot just to go to some stupid car auction and find a few worth restoring. Don't get me wrong--I loved the cars--but staying in even the filthiest hotel in Toronto cost more than I wanted to shell out.

I guess I understood now why I'd never seen Ellie on TV or heard about her attending university and why when I talked to Craig six months before, he knew only that she'd seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet.

She seemed so broken, so unlike the Ellie Nash I'd once known, and I wanted to be the one to fix her. Maybe I was irrational, maybe I couldn't ever be her night in shining armour, and maybe I didn't even deserve to save her, but nevertheless, I wanted--no, needed--to try. I needed to know who'd done this to her, and I needed to make sure they didn't do it again. I needed to know what possessed her to hang out in a bar at three in the morning and why she hadn't smiled the entire time I'd been there.

I needed to know, and make a difference--if, that is, I ever saw her again. At that point, it seemed pretty unlikely.


	2. Présence

**Présence**

If seeing her at the bar had been weird, the next time I saw her was downright bizarre.

It was nine o'clock in Toronto on a Friday night, and I was a lonely guy who didn't know anyone that I felt like seeing. What was I to do? Visit a strip joint, of course.

I shuffled in, head down, and nearly lost my lunch when I saw Mr. Raditch sitting in the corner with a goofy smile on his face. I would have run back out had it not been for the intriguing and half-naked girl on stage, dressed in leather underwear and twirling around a pole with an expert touch.

Oh. My. God.

There really was no other reaction to seeing your high school ex-girlfriend dancing and showing off her body for the world to see.

I bribed a few people and ended up in her changing room, waiting until she returned. I sat in the corner, and I guess she didn't notice me at first, because she took a position in front of the mirror and began painstakingly scrubbing at the over-abundance of eyeliner--more than she'd ever worn, even in her gothiest days.

"Hi." It wasn't a flowery greeting, but I'm not one to waste words.

She jumped, and I immediately felt sorry for her. "Jeezus, give me a heart attack, will you?"

"Sorry. Um, Ellie. How are you?"

"I go by Cherry," she said, her voice bitter. "Wait, how do you know my real name? You stalking me or something?"

"El, it's me. Sean."

It was stupid, but I think I expected her to launch herself into my arms, or something. Instead, she gave me a "what the hell?" look and placed a cigarette between her lips, fumbling with her lighter. It took her a few minutes to get the thing lit, struggling against her shaking hands, and I waited in silence until she took a long first drag.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Not only was she bitter, but she was downright cold.

I was still hoping she'd be happy to see me. I was hoping that it would be easy to save her and that we could have what we did in high school before I messed up everything.

"Um, business." Ellie had always been able to leave me speechless. She was so goddamn beautiful. She swallowed me whole, even covered in fifty layers of makeup and the stench of booze and drugs and too much hairspray in her hair.

She nodded and she seemed to think that would be enough for me. It was almost a dismissal but I wasn't willing to accept it.

"How are you?" I asked again.

"Fine," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. For the first time, I notice the raspiness to her voice--the rasp that was usually reserved for sixty-year-old chronic smokers. I hoped it was just the atmosphere of the place. God knows it was affecting my voice. She seemed to suddenly remember her manners, as if the sound of new music in the main area jolted her memory toward an earlier age. "Um, fine," she repeated. "Thanks. How are you?"

She peeled off her shirt before I could even look away. Who was this Ellie Nash--this girl with no pride? I dropped my gaze as quickly as I could.

"I'm doing good," I said. "Real good. I think. Thanks."

I don't know if she nodded or responded because I didn't look up again until she pulled on a beaten-up pair of combat boots. It was nice to see she hadn't completely changed.

She was still punk-ish, but she was more slutty-punk than goth-punk, and I found it more than a little disturbing. She had cleavage. Not much cleavage, but damnit, she had it, and it was on display. And those legs... Okay, okay.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, since minutes before she'd been stripping for a room full of strangers, but working for money was one thing, and sacrificing modesty for, well, I'm not sure what, was another.

"So, um, you been working here for long?" I managed finally.

She pulled her fake-leather coat on and I was relieved that at least a few things hadn't changed. With much of her makeup shucked off, she was a little more like the Ellie I knew.

"Yeah," she said, blowing out a long last breath of smoke. "Well, sort of. About three months."

I nodded, trying to make conversation. I'd never been good at it, and I'd never bother trying very much. People didn't interest me all that much. Cars? Cars were easy. You put the right pieces in the right spots and they do what they're supposed to. But people? People were complicated.

"Can I take you out for coffee or something?" I offered.

I wasn't expecting overwhelming gratitude--hell, I wasn't even expecting an acceptance. But what she said next left me stunned.

"Sorry. I have to get home to my husband."


	3. Goodnight Demonslayer

**A/N: **Aaaaaack. Lemme guess, this chapter looks familiar? That's because I have a few done and I accidentally posted this one early. So go and read the REAL chapter 1 (labelled as Présence) and then reread this. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

* * *

**  
Goodnight Demonslayer**

Over the next several days, I went out of my way to try and bump into her again. That evening, I alerted the front desk of the hotel that I'd be staying longer than originally planned.

I spent most of my time staking out areas where I thought I might find her. I guess I might seem a bit stalkerish, but I had to see her again. I just had to. I couldn't leave under those circumstances--especially thinking, no, knowing, that her idiot of a husband had killed her spirit.

I was at dinner a few days later when I finally saw her again. It was the place I least expected to come across her, but I suppose fate, or whatever the hell it is, has a funny sense of humour.

I walked awkwardly to the table and then stood there, fidgeting and shifting my weight from foot to foot as I tried to figure out what to say to her and her male companion. She gave me an exasperated look after a moment, and decided to be merciful.

"Tim, this is Sean. He's an old bo--an old high school friend. Sean, this is Tim. My husband."

I shook his hand and to my surprise, he invited me to join them. I know he didn't mean it--I know she didn't want me to be there, either--but I didn't care. I sat down anyway. After all, I'm not known to have perfect manners, am I?

I wanted to hate him. I mean, obviously he was the one who had done this to her, right?

But he wasn't. He was a nice guy. A good guy. The kind of guy that Ellie deserved. Compared to him, I looked like some worthless schlump. He was outgoing and a good talker and he seemed genuinely in love with her--so why did she look so bored with him?

I was trying to cling to my beliefs that this was all just pretend. I wanted to save her still. I wanted to have something to save her some. What else could have turned her into the shadow of herself? He had to be a con.

I stayed through the entire meal, with Ellie shooting dagger glares in my direction, and Tim oblivious to any animosity, or at the very least, polite enough to pretend to be oblivious. That in itself bothered me. Shouldn't he care that I was driving his wife--and I say the word with disgust--absolutely insane? Shouldn't he care that I was bothering her?

Okay, I know I'm grasping, but I didn't know what else to believe.

After buying them both dessert (I figured they deserved it by that point), I asked her again to join me for coffee. There was fire in her eyes but Tim was a trusting guy--he insisted she go. And that's how I ended up with a... meeting set up for the next day. I'd love to call it a date, but I'd be fooling myself.

I didn't want to leave them that night. Well, actually, I didn't want to leave her. I didn't give a shit about him. Our entire dinner had been filled with awkward conversation, forced along mainly by his polite inquiries.

Turns out, Ellie had mentioned my name about two times. He had no idea who I was, and she was content to leave it that way. I was merciful. I didn't mention our relationship. I didn't really want to get her in any trouble, and I didn't want to put her through any more agony.

But I'll be honest--it bugged me that she wouldn't acknowledge me. I bothered me that she didn't care enough to mention that once upon a time, it had been her lips on mine. Once upon a time, she'd jumped into my arms and smiled at me and gave me goosebumps as she ran her fingers across my arms and chest.

But in an instant, my hopes for a reunion were dashed. I was nothing to her, and from the minute I'd left her, I'd ceased to exist.

It turns out that they still play the same old infomercials as they did back when I was in grade 10. So not only was a miserable and sleepless that night, but I was flooded with nostalgia and shadows of the past--shadows of her, and shadows of what I'd done.


	4. Chloroform Perfume

**A/N: **Many hugs and thanks to my reviewers!  
**

* * *

Chloroform Perfume**

She was half an hour late and completely unapologetic.

I'd chosen The Dot for old-times' sake and she'd grudgingly accepted but I'd begun to think she wasn't going to come at all. But the bell above the door finally jingled and she walked in, looking more uncertain than I'd seen her since our high school days.

She sat down and pulled out a cigarette, then hastily shoved it back into the carton when she saw the manager staring her down.

"Black coffee?" I offered. She nodded. She clearly wasn't happy with me. I'd sort of technically forced her into this, but it wasn't as if I were out to ruin her life.

She was in a tight corset top and a mini skirt and I couldn't tell if she'd just come from work or if this was an everyday outfit for her. She still wore fishnets and the same old boots, but her skirts were inches shorter and her eyes fierce.

"You coming from work?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Home."

"Oh. I just thought, since you were a little late and all..."

She glared at me again, her eyes flashing and tongue clenched between her teeth, and I knew I'd better watch my step. "Some of us have important things to do," she said. "Some of us have to scrub floors and worry about dinner and bills and spend time with our husbands. I'm so sorry to inconvenience you, but some of us can't just sit around and relive old memories."

I mumbled an apology, not wanting to get into a fight, and she accepted it with a brisk nod.

When the coffee arrived, she glanced around the room and then pulled out a flask of some sort of alcohol (I stayed away from the stuff for the most part--seeing her in the bar had been a fluke) and dumped a bit into the cup before I could protest. She met my gaze and there was a challenge on her face--one I wasn't about to accept.

I sipped at my own coffee--double-double; I wasn't as brave as her--as a desperate attempt to hold my tongue, and for once, it worked. We sat in silence until she was driven insane by it, and she gave in and spoke.

"So what have you been up to?" There was bitterness in her voice and resentment, and I knew then how much she hated me. Nevertheless, I had to answer.

"Not too much. Um, I'm working part-time at a car repair shop. And I've been going to school but I'm taking this semestre off. Needed a break. What about you?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much." I knew that was all I'd get out of her.

She grabbed a stir stick from the tray and dipped it into her coffee, stirring it around and around despite there being nothing to stir but half an inch of liquid. Bit by bit, she destroyed the lid of her cup with one hand, tearing it to tiny pieces while the other hand continued in robotic circles.

"Tim seems nice," I offered finally. It was an effort on my part. I hated him even before I'd met him. And he should have been impossible to hate because of who he was, but I hated him anyway. He'd taken her from me. He'd destroyed her.

She shrugged again. "I guess." She stared down into her drink, tapping her foot to add to the anxious refrain.

"Um, how's the family?"

"Fine." But one muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched and I knew it was a lie--more of a lie than anything else she'd said. There was no point in pushing it, however. Ellie had always been stubborn, and I doubted that had changed.

"Ellie..."

She looked up at me then, and there was a hint of something in her eyes that I didn't quite recognise. But she waited for me to continue.

"Ellie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you with the rent. That I abandoned you. I'd take it back if I could."

"Whatever. It's fine. It was your life."

"It's not fine," I protested, and I meant it. "It was your life too."

I guess I'm more of an optimist than I cared to admit. I was still hoping she'd smile or jump into my arms or tell me she still loved me.

"Whatever."

I sighed and we sat in silence until the third offer of a refill. At that point, I decided we'd probably overstayed our welcome.

"I guess I should get going," I said reluctantly. "But El... I really am sorry. I am so sorry."

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?" I was sure I'd heard her wrong but when I looked at her, her eyes had filled with tears.

"Shut up. Please. Just be quiet." She leaned forward and her lips brushed mine and I knew that I hadn't even begun to explore the meaning of the word complicated.

"Please." She whispered it again and this time I was the one to lean in for a kiss. Her lips tasted of whiskey and coffee and vanilla gloss and sin had never felt quite so good.


	5. Nothing Nowhere

**Nothing Nowhere**

Her head rose and fell on my chest with every breath I took.

Being this close to her, I could see the bright red roots of her hair that were growing in and pushing away the dull brown, and I was glad. I missed her--the real her--and that was one more sign that the Ellie Nash I knew was still in there.

She'd fallen asleep beside me after we spent an hour talking. She was exhausted, although she never would have admitted it, and I was glad to give her some comfort.

I should have cared that what we'd done was morally wrong--that she was married. But she was Ellie and I was Sean and it felt too right to be wrong. I love her. I always have. She loved me. She still does. And I know without doubt that she feels nothing more than faint affection for Tim.

_"So this is your hotel room." The words were dubious and I wondered if I'd gone too far, asking her here at all. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she didn't want what I did. Maybe even if she did want it, I shouldn't give it to her. I pushed the thought from my mind._

_"Yeah, this is it, mess and all." It was only as I said it that I noticed yesterday's crumpled boxers on the floor and a chocolate bar wrapper in the middle of my bed. I blushed, much to my distaste, and quickly tidied up. I don't think she even noticed--her eyes were trained on her shoes._

I gazed down at her long lashes and smeared eyeliner and the slight smile on her face. It was the most peaceful I'd seen her, and it wasn't just because of the sleep. She'd lost that dull look in her eyes the moment my fingers brushed her bare skin.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, twirling a strand of her hair around my index finger. She didn't stir, and I was glad for it. If she'd awoken, the moment would have ended.

I knew now that I hadn't broken her, at least not entirely. I'd hurt her--deeply--but even I couldn't alone destroy her.

It had been a shotgun wedding, all things considered. She hadn't wanted to marry Tim. He was a passing fling, but when she'd started throwing up every morning before breakfast, she forced herself to love him.

She considered abortion but she couldn't quite stomach the thought, and he was dead-set against it. She dropped out of university the day he proposed, only days into her first year of courses. She'd given up so much for him, and for the baby, and she was still sacrificing.

She'd miscarried two days after the wedding.

Tim was still in school. They'd decided, I guess, that it was for the best. Someone needed to support them, and since Ellie had already dropped out because of her pregnancy, it was easiest for her to earn money. That way, eventually, they hoped, he would be able to get a better job and keep them afloat. That was their logic, not mine. And maybe--maybe--someday, Ellie could go back to university, they said. I somehow doubted it.

_S__he fluttered anxiously around the room, looking trapped despite her willingness to come back with me. She clutched her bag defensively, but when I pried it from her fingers, she was all too eager to show me the contents._

_"My pictures," she said, suddenly shy. "Um, my wedding pictures." She flipped the cover back, and there she was, looking beautiful and despondent in a white wedding dress that skimmed the tiniest bulge of her belly. In every picture, she had the same smile pasted on her lips, and the same sad eyes. And in every picture, she either had her hand on her stomach, her eyes glancing downward, or her husband's hands resting on her mid-section as he wrapped his arms around her from behind._

_She was babbling on about the pictures and the wedding and I couldn't quite pay attention to her. I was captivated by the sight of her--first in the pictures, and then the fragile and almost illusory girl in front of me. I tipped her chin up and kissed her and she clutched the album to her chest, as if to ward me off._

_I would have stopped if she wanted me to, but she didn't and I didn't_.

"Hey," I said, under my breath. I hoped she wouldn't wake up, but I couldn't resist. "I love you."

I should have stayed quiet because the minute I spoke, she went into a flurry of motion. Within an instant, she went from perfectly at rest, to perfectly distressed.

"Oh god," she murmured. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm married, Sean! I can't--I'm not allowed to like you. I'm not allowed to care about you. I'm not allowed to sleep with you. I love him. I have to..."

"Do you?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer, but I needed to know. I needed to know if I had a chance in hell of winning her back, or if this had just been an unhappy fling.

_Her skin was electric beneath my fingers, and every hair on my body stood up. She cringed away from my touch at first, but then she linked one hand with mine and whispered incomprehensible words into my ear. It didn't matter what she was saying. Her words meant nothing--her voice and eyes and lips told me everything I needed to know._

She didn't meet my eyes, and it was the best news I'd received in a long time.


	6. Fortune Presents

**A/N: **A million thanks for all the kind reviews (feel free to leave criticism too, you know--I won't hate you for it). Don't expect all chapters to come quickly. This is the second last of ones I already have written, as I didn't post this immediately when I wrote it. But I'm glad people are enjoying it.

I'm still having a bit of trouble with Sean's characterisation. As pointed out, I have a tendency toward writing with my own vocabulary, not, say, Sean's. So, I'm working on it.

* * *

**Fortune Presents Gifts Not According to the Book**

I love her. God, I love her.

The sad thing is, I don't think I'll ever be able to be completely honest with Ellie. How am I supposed to tell her that hurting her was the best thing I ever did? That leaving her, that going back to Wasaga, changed my life? You just don't tell someone something like that. If I had to do it over again, I don't know if I could. But I'm glad it happened as it did.

Wasaga Beach was boring, and that's exactly what I needed. Mom and Dad were pretty sober, surprisingly enough and after a week of lounging around and watching late-night television, the boredom got to me. I got myself back in school.

It was terrifying the first day. I don't like to admit I'm scared of anything, but I was shaking when I walked into the crumbling halls. I was shaking the next day, too, and the day after that but not quite as badly, and eventually I got more or less comfortable with the place. And, even more amazing than my parents' sobriety, I had brains.

I graduated with honours. I still don't believe the words when I repeat them to myself. I even got a scholarship. Just an entrance one, mind you, but a thousand dollars isn't anything to laugh at. And, what's more, I actually used the scholarship. Not only was I the first person in my family to graduate, but I was the first to go to college. Crazy how things turn out--I'm where I am, and Ellie's, well, not.

But all of this--all of it is off-limits to her. I can't explain it. All she knows is that I'm in town on business. She doesn't know that I'm taking the semester off school or that I'm pursuing a degree in education and following in Mr. Ehl's footsteps. She doesn't know... she doesn't know that I'm happy.

And I am happy, that's the amazing thing. I never thought I'd be where I am. I never thought that I'd willingly be putting myself through school--that I'd be subjecting myself to a future in the same confines I'd once rejected. I never thought that despite the occasional nightmares, I could get past what happened years ago.

I'd forgotten what I was missing, though, until I laid eyes upon her. And now I know, and I know I won't be happy again without her in my life.

I've given up all pretence of being here for a car auction. I've informed the motel management I'm staying here for awhile, and I'm getting a cut-rate to prove it. Thoughts of renting an apartment have even entered my mind, although I've pushed them away before my stupid side can latch onto them.

I haven't seen her since we slept together. I've been in that strip joint for the past three days, and I know she'll be there tonight. If she's not, she'll lose her job (amazing the information you can get when you pretend to be someone you're not--someone who is entitled to the information), and I know she won't risk it. So I'll be there, front and centre, if only to make sure she's okay.

They probably think by now that I'm the horniest bastard in all of Toronto, but truthfully, strippers have never done a thing for me. I need love. I'm not ruled by my hormones. People are always surprised to learn that, but to me, it's second nature.

Emma... I loved Emma. I loved her a lot but we were never comfortable around each other. She was perfect, or she wanted to be perfect, and I'm not perfect. I'll never be perfect. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't live up to her standards. Maybe she didn't expect me to, but how could I not try? Last I heard, she and Toby are dating anyway. Yes, Emma and Toby, in a romantic relationship. Don't ask me--I can't explain it.

Ellie, though, she never expected anything. Well, okay, that's not entirely true. She expected the best from me, but it was my best she wanted--not the best, if you get the difference. Me. She didn't care if I screwed up; she just cared that I tried to make it better.

People think she stopped cutting because of me, but she didn't. I kept in touch with Craig for a few years, and I made him promise not to tell because I didn't want to hurt anyone, but all through high school, she was okay--or so he said, and I have no reason to doubt him. She stopped because she was strong, not to please me or because I loved her enough to heal her. But it scares me to wonder what happened to bring her back down to hell. I saw her arms so much closer as we tumbled together between the sheets and I almost cried. I can't understand what would make her hurt so badly as to destroy herself. I never could.

I want to apologise to her for the sex. I know what we did wasn't exactly right. But I can't say I'm sorry because I'm not. It might not have been technically right, but it sure as hell didn't feel wrong. I love her. She still loves me. How is that anything but right?

Ah, yes, The Husband. Goddamn The Husband.


	7. The Gravity of Love

**The Gravity of Love**

I shifted from foot to foot, trying to squelch my anxious anticipation as I waited for her to arrive. The room was dark and vaguely musty, and there was a limp boa hanging off a chair in the corner. Her coat and street clothes were in a pile on the floor, and makeup scattered along the small edge of the ledge in front of her mirror. It looked as if she'd arrived late because the room was as chaotic as it could be with only a few items scattered around it.

She entered a few minutes later with her head down and she was already pulling the elastics from her hair. She hadn't bothered replacing her stage clothing, wearing only her cheap underwear and too dead to feel any shame. I'd seen her naked a few days before, certainly, but still the sight of her nearly undressed was enough to surprise me.

My mind had gone blank the moment I'd seen her, and I certainly wasn't an Einstein or Frost when I finally spoke. "Hey."

"Jesus!" She jumped, apparently stunned to see me standing there in her dressing room, and I immediately regretted the ambush.

She took a moment to regain her composure, then turned to face me. "What do you want, Sean?"

"I just--I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Okay?" She shook her head, I guess in disbelief or maybe disgust. "Okay? Sean, I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me alone."

"El..."

"I said I don't want to talk to you!"

"Ellie, please," I begged. Yes, Sean Cameron was reduced to begging. "Ellie, just listen to me."

"I was happy, okay? And then you waltz in and take that all away from me."

"But you weren't happy." Maybe I should have left her alone--maybe I shouldn't have protested--but what was I supposed to do? Let her go back to him until she hurt so badly that she killed herself?

"Oh shut up. What do you know? How could you do this to me? How could you..."

And I lost it. I hate myself for losing control, but I did and there's no point denying it.

"Funny, El, but there were two people in that room."

"I was drunk."

"You had a small splash of alcohol in your coffee. Ellie, you kissed me. Don't forget that. You wanted it as badly as I did. You never told me to stop. You kissed me, you moaned, you begged and you enjoyed it. So don't fucking blame this on me."

She shook her head and shoved me toward the door and only then did I notice how violently she was trembling. "Ellie, please," I said softly. I'd scared her. I'd made her terrified of me. I had made the one girl I love shake in fear because I'd lost my temper. Goddamnit, I don't deserve her.

She shook her head again and I left her dressing room willingly, tears in my eyes, and collapsed against the wall outside. I was so naive. Every time I see her, I guess I still expect that forgiveness. And when I don't get it, it's like I don't know what to do. Like I want to make her love me, force her to love me... and that's why I scare her, and why I scare myself.

I was still sitting there in the hall, my head buried in my hands, when she crept out and slid down beside me. She wrapped one of her tiny hands around my arm and I could feel her still shaking, but she was brave again.

"Sean, what we did..." Her voice trailed off and I almost thought she wasn't going to continue. "What we did--it has to go away. No one can know. We have to forget it happened, okay? I'm married and you have to go back to--to where? I don't know anything about you. You're completely changed since I saw you. So, what we did, it didn't happen. We aren't a we. And we never will be. That's all in the past. High school. I can't--I'm married."

I lifted my head and looked in her eyes and started to protest, but she was already crying and she cut me off. "Please don't make this any harder for me," she whispered. "Maybe in another life, things would have been different... maybe if..." and here she closed her eyes. "...But we're stuck with this reality."

She smiled a heart-broken smile and reached up and lightly wiped away a few of my tears with her thumb. She struggled back to her feet, teetering slightly in her four-inch heels, and gave an apologetic shrug. "I love you, Sean. I always will. But it doesn't matter anymore. Just... take care of yourself." She turned away then and I was glad because I don't think I could have taken another moment of her pain or pity or whatever it was that surrounded her.

"Screw you, Cherry." But I couldn't quite gather the conviction to say it loud enough for her to hear.


	8. Get Gone

**A/N: **Mmkay, this chapter is... not so good. And if I had any common sense at all, I'd revise it and then post it but I'm scared it would never get done that way simply because I'm a little stuck plot wise.

I spent several hours today slogging through my NaNoWriMo story, which is a good 65,000 words long, and I realised just how bad and rushed it is. So, I guess this chapter is partly a break from that and I felt like outputting something instead of reading and taking notes and editing.

* * *

**Get Gone**

I spent two days mourning the memory of her. It sounds ridiculous even to me--especially to me--but I couldn't help myself. She didn't want me. She had rejected me. She needed me to leave her alone. I needed to stay away from her.

Needless to say, I was stunned when I picked up the phone at six a.m. on a Tuesday morning and her frantic voice flooded my ears. "Sean, I need a favour," she said.

"Uh. Hey, El." I was still more than half-asleep.

"Listen to me!" she protested. "This is important, Sean."

"A few nights ago, you were yelling at me to leave you alone, if I recall." I wanted to be angry with her and to have her feel that anger but I couldn't put the aggression into my voice. Later, I was glad I couldn't. I wanted to hurt her for hurting me... but I never would have forgiven myself if I had.

"Yeah, well, this isn't a few nights ago." Her voice snapped me back to reality.

I sighed. "What's up, El?" I tried not to let on how good it was to hear her voice, despite our arguments. Ellie Nash is cocaine to me. I crave her when she's gone and I take her for granted when she's readily available.

"For whatever reason, Tim wants to meet up with you. He says he just wants to learn about other parts of my life, but... oh god, Sean, he knows. He must know." She was nearly hysterical, and I was still trying to wake up and make sense of it all.

"El, how would he know?" I yawned and I felt like I should be more concerned, but honestly, part of me wished he did know. Maybe then he'd reject her. Maybe then she'd feel free to pursue the alternatives.

"I don't know!" she said. "But he must. I mean... You have to say no, Sean. You have to say no and refuse to hang out with him and you have to leave town. I can't see you again or talk to you. You're out of my life. Just please, tell him you're leaving. Tell him you're busy. Tell him that you have five days to live if you have to." She waited a moment for my answer and then I heard her swear under her breath. There was a male voice in the background--Tim's, I suppose--and I could almost hear her force her lips into a smile. "So it was nice talking to you, Ash. Thanks for calling. Next time, not so early though, okay?" She hung up before I could reply.

I glanced at the phone for a moment, trying to make sense of a very abrupt start to the morning, and then I shook my head and gave up, replacing the receiver. Ellie was over-reacting--she had to be.

I missed her already and I had no intention of leaving--not when there were a million questions still to be answered. She wouldn't have slept with me if there weren't still some mutual attraction. She wouldn't have made the first move--she wouldn't have kissed me.

I wondered just how much Tim knew about her. If he knew it all, then he wasn't very good for her. What kind of man would let his wife strip and cut herself and carry on with high school boyfriends? What kind of man would say nothing while she got drunk in the middle of the day? What kind of man would let his wife sacrifice her education on his behalf?

But if he didn't know, was that really any better? It would mean that Ellie had kept it from him or that he hadn't cared to find out. It would mean he didn't love her the way she deserved--the way I would love her.

I sighed and jumped into the shower, too wide-awake to go back to bed. I turned the water as cold as I could stand it, trying to make sense of the questions clouding my brain. Just as soon as I got into the shower, however, I stepped back out. If Tim did call, I didn't want to miss it. I didn't know what I would say, but I wanted to say something. So I settled in and waited for the phone to ring.

But... part of me wishes I'd done what she asked. Part of me wishes I'd given up and left Toronto and left her life forever. Maybe I was making things worse for her. Maybe I was making things worse for myself. Maybe I was wrong, and maybe we weren't meant to be together at all.

Maybe I was just turning into an obsessive stalker psychopath. Maybe I didn't love her at all--maybe I just loved the idea of having her. Maybe she didn't even love me.

And maybe the sky is red and unicorns live on Mars.


	9. Hocus Pocus

**A/N**: At long last, an update. I won't bore you with the details, but I've dealt with several eye infections, a flare-up of my CFS/FMS, and most frustrating of all, a complete change to the Dvorak keyboard layout (google it) that makes typing a very slow exercise.

Believe it or not, this is likely the second last chapter. This was never meant to be a long project--just something to play around with.

**

* * *

**

**Hocus Pocus**

Ellie and I always let each other deal with personal stuff. So why was it that all of a sudden, I was sure I knew what was best for her?

Sure enough, Tim called me later that day and invited me out for coffee. I refused, suggesting beer instead. If I had to face the guy married to the girl I love, I sure as hell wasn't going to do it sober.

I think I was sabotaging them--no, I was sabotaging her. I knew she wasn't happy and I knew she wasn't willing (or able; I'm not sure which) to be with me and so I wasn't content to just sit back and do nothing. Maybe if I shook her world up, maybe if I turned it on its head, maybe then she'd make changes.

I was five minutes early but he was already there. He stood and shook my hand, offering up a warm smile. I couldn't help but be a little suspicious. What guy treats his wife's ex like a new best friend? Just what had Ellie told him about me, anyway?

"It's nice to finally meet one of Ellie's high school friends," he said, oblivious to my confusion. Wait--was this dude gay or something? He was being awfully... polite.

"Uh, yeah," I grunted.

"She doesn't talk much about her past," he continued.

Time to change the subject. "So, uh, what do you do? To support yourself?"

"Oh, I'm going to school. Studying journalism." He brushed off the question and I was boiling mad inside. I mean, I'd already known. But the fact that he seemed to have no guilt over relying on Ellie for money really had a way of pissing me off. Nonetheless, I had slept with his wife just nights before so I wasn't exactly in the position to lecture him.

"Oh." I didn't feel I really owed him more than one and two-word answers. After all, he'd invited me.

"So you two were close, I guess?"

Damn it. Why did he continue talking about her? This was hard enough. Yes, I wanted to talk about Ellie--but on my schedule, not his.

"I guess so." I wasn't trying. I'll admit it. And I was starting to think I should have listened to Ellie and not come at all.

"It must have been hard. I mean, sorry. I shouldn't have..." Seemed like he was having as much fun as I was. I shrugged. I didn't like him and I didn't see the point in pretending otherwise.

"So, what was Ellie like in high school? I always wish I'd known her."

"Digging for dirt?" My words were a little harsher than I intended, so I gave in and tried to sound pleasant. "El was great. Brilliant. She was quiet sometimes, but she stood up for things that she thought were important. She could cut you down in three words. And," I couldn't help but add, "she was a great kisser."

He laughed--not the reaction I was expecting. "Good for a girl, right?" I guess it was obvious I had no idea what he was talking about, so he clued me in. "I'd be jealous if I didn't know you were batting for the other team." My eyes narrowed and his laugh was more nervous than before. "Sorry. Ellie told me. I guess I shouldn't have brought it up."

Ka-ching! No wonder he hadn't been concerned about Ellie and I spending time together. I don't know if she'd hinted or outright lied, but clearly El had done a fantastic job at convincing her husband that I was some version of Marco Del Rossi.

"What else has Ellie told you?" I asked slowly. "What do you even know about her?"

"I love her--" he began weakly.

"No!" The anger was starting to get the best of me. "What do you really know? What's her favourite colour? Where does she work? Why does she look like a goddamn eighty year-old who's been to hell and back? Who the hell IS she?"

I don't know what I thought would happen--maybe that I'd knock some sense into him, or maybe that I'd get his temper going and have some vague excuse to punch him out. Instead, he remained deathly calm.

"She's Ellie Nash. She's my wife. She's never quite been the same since her father's funeral. Her favourite colour is red and she works at the local diner."

And that's when I lost it. I laughed. I laughed some more. And then I smirked and I heard myself correcting him--all the while trying to suppress my astonishment at her father's death. "Her favourite colour is baby blue. She never wears it, but it was the colour of the gem in the necklace her Dad gave her as a baby. She works at the strip joint downtown. And the other afternoon? When we went out for coffee? We went back to my hotel room and had sex."

I hated myself for it, but I couldn't wipe the self-satisfied grin from my face, even as his fist met my lip.


	10. Still

**Epilogue - Still**

I wish I could say there was a happily ever after ending, but I can't. When has there ever been?

I went home that night. I didn't wait around to see what would happen. I loved--love--Ellie, but... she's not mine to have. Not now. And I guess maybe I need to respect that. I hope Tim can fix her. I hope she can fix herself. But if she can't, well, I've done all I can. I brought attention to her misery.

A month after I left, I returned to Toronto for a night. I headed to the strip joint and saw no sign of her. I was just about to leave when I heard them announce Cherry coming to the stage... and there she was.

She looked the same. She smiled a little more but it wasn't her smile--it was some fake thing that she'd conjured up. I guess she did it for Tim, maybe, that she pretended she was doing better so she wouldn't have to face the fact that she wasn't okay.

Who am I kidding? It's all idle speculation. I'm not some fucking shrink. I don't even know if Tim talked to her. I don't even know if he believed me or if he cared that I was telling the truth. I knew that Ellie was still stripping. I knew that she was unhappy. And I knew that much as I wanted to, it wasn't my job to save her.

I thought I could keep hidden in the large and rather horny audience, but whether it was my awkwardness or just plain luck (good or bad, I'm not sure), she spotted me halfway through her routine.

She held my gaze for a full two seconds, her eyes boring into mine. They were piercing and angry and bitter and that made me pretty damn positive that she and Tim had a little discussion about certain issues. And then her chin jutted out a little more and she whipped her head around and continued her dance, and that was that.

I left, then. I didn't want to run into her. I didn't want to force my presence on her. All I wanted was to know if she was okay, and I had my answer, even if it wasn't the one I was looking for.

As an afterthought, I headed to employee parking and found her beat-up, trashy car in front of a dirty sign bearing her name. One of her mirrors was cracked and half the paint was chipped off. It looked like the passenger door handle was held on by just a few straggly pieces of duct tape. It was pathetic, and it was very much the Ellie I'd come to know.

I had a pen with me but no paper, so I sacrificed a five-dollar bill instead. She could probably use the money more than I could anyway. I scribbled my phone number onto it and nothing more--she would know it was from me. I didn't expect her to call me, but I wanted her to be able to if she ever wanted to talk.

I hesitated and then lifted her windshield wiper, intending to tuck the money underneath. Then I looked around at where I was and laughed--the chances of her being the one to find it were slim to none. The first person past would snatch it up in an instant.

I dropped my hand to my side, trying to figure out what to do. I idly played with her door handle--and was only half surprised when the door sprang open. Problem solved. I tucked the bill down next to the seat--visible, but not obvious--then hit the lock and shut the door. I heard an ominous creaking as it slammed shut but the car didn't fall apart so I crept away.

It was a long drive home.

She hasn't called me. She probably never will. But if she does, I'll be here waiting, with baited breath and hopes and dreams for her future. It's all I can do. I hope it's enough.


End file.
